


Linoleum Twist.

by KatyaSparrow



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Blood and Gore, Crime Scenes, Friends to Lovers, Fucking, Hospitals, Hot Sex, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder, Murder Husbands, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Police, Serial Killers, Sexy, Smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyaSparrow/pseuds/KatyaSparrow
Summary: Hannibal is a dangerous serial killer and surgeon in Louisiana , suddenly fascinated with a unlikely cop: Will Graham. Guilt, empathy, murder and a dangerous growing obbsession will take our beloved characters into heart wrenching twisted tale, of The Linoleum Twist.*the fanfic will be a little long but ends wonderfully, I promise. Updates are very regular*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be romance ;) The chapters have alot of build up and detailed analysis of crime scenes. When the Hannibal and Will do meet, everything esculates very quickly.
> 
> *NOT FINISHED YET*

**Code 12-77; Homicide**

It was 2:43am in New Orleans Louisiana. Will's table was littered with papers and books on behaviroul science, psychology and peculiar unsolved cases. Coffee stains and empty perscription bottles lay cluttered around random studies, sounds of calls and roaming police officers filled the air with static, the taste of double shot dark expresso bitter as it jolted Will's mind back into focus. He wiped his mouth and placed the cup aside. No calls had come in yet, so this was his chance to study up some more, although he quietly questioned his choice in passion.

Officer Will Graham had only just become a cop in the Homicide department a few weeks earlier, after a lot of hard work and hiding his instability. He knew exactly what was wrong with him and why this was a terrible idea for a carrier plan, but he knew that with his 'little talent' he could save lives, and that would be worth the effort; even if it meant leaving even more psychological scarring. But he has multiple degrees, one being psychology, plus experience in counselling. He should be able the know exactly how to deal with any problems his mind will conjure up, his mind argued. So far its worked out, so why stop now? The internal argument inside Will was constant, the question that brings out the conflict being whether or not to stop using his unique set of personality and empathy disorder/s to help solve murder cases. But whether it was for the better or worse, Will's conclusion would always be swayed by his self loathing to ignore any damage done to his state of mind, and the logic of saving lives would win.  
A loud crackle snapped Will back from his internal war. His radio was tuning in and talking, a firm voice on the other side spoke " _We have a possible code 12-17, we need you officer Graham on 17th Stageriff avenue, over."_  
Three seconds Will waited before he finally got himself to push the button and say "What are the circumstances, over." His voice didn't sound as confident as he had hoped it would.  
" _The usual crazy ol' Benjy calling in and said he saw some guy leading a girl into the abandoned crack house and saw blood. Might be nothing, since Benjy has a history of fibbing and all, but still worth a check up, over_." Will let out an irritated sigh. Of course he was tasked with this pointless errand, and not any other homicide cop, just because he was a rookie. And a well known "softie" by the other officers, so teasing was common. Benjy was delusional and a liar, yet it was mandatory for all calls to 911 to be taken seriously. So that was how Will's shift began.

After strapping on the usual gun and badge, Will begrudgingly ducked into his patrole car and started to drive into the cold still night. It was 3:02am when he pulled up on to the drive way of the well-known-crackhouse, a light breeze blew a newspaper infront of the rigity entrance of rotting wood and grey brick. Erie as it was, Will took one deep breath, adjusted his glasses and stepped out of the driver seat. The car door slammed, echoing into the dark doorway, causing Will to flinch; and take out his flashlight. With trembling fingers lingering on the butt of his issued gun, Graham stepped into the large hallway of Stageriff's abanonded house. Old peices of wood and glass littered the concrete floor, crackling under his boots caused a shivver to go through Will's spine. Slowly making his way down the corridor, the powerful light beam of his flashlight played shadows on the graphited walls, a warning of menace ahead. A few heart beats later Will rounded a corner to see the what looked like a previous living room, but seeing movement from the far side of the room caused a sharp inhaul of breath and a forced automatic "This is officer Graham, is anyone there? You know you are tresppassing sir." Will hoped to God that it was just a stray animal or just a trick of the light, and not the reported man seen by Benjy, because that would mean...  
Scuffling. Sickening wet thump. Muffeled whimper. Dread rose from the pit of Will's stomach and clouded his mind as he not so gracfully handled his gun, wide eyed with a slight tremble. He took steps inbetween breaths. He knew what that sound was. He knew in that exact moment that the unthinkable had taken place. But he begged his instincts to be wrong, at least this once. It took less than a few seconds to get across the room, cold sweat building up as all of his training was forgotten when he was met by a gruesome scene.

Illuminated by his tremoring flashlight, twinkles bounced off of a pool of crimson that gushed out of a pale neck. It took a few seconds of sighlent horror for Will to start assessing the situation, because for a moment all he could do was meet the wide helpless eyes of the dying brunett girl, the child's blood soaked hands hovering above the incision at the jugular; all the joy and humanity in the world seemed to be leaking out of her wound, like a hypnotising fountain of terror, the contrast of her ever paling skin was sickening and beautiful.

A painting of innocense, tainted.

A shadow moved into Will's frame of sight and broke his trance. He aimed at the figure, finally prosessing the last details of the scene; a scrawny man covered in an elegant splatter of blood with a faint resemblance of his victem, was advansing onto Will with a swing in his step that could only be described as 'drunken with power and pride'. Will froze over when he saw the glint of a curved looking knife in the hand of the killer.  
He froze and looked into the eyes of his enemy. And then, something strange happened. An unusual rush of bitterness and pride swept over him, feelings that weren't his own that made him hesitate. A stranger's senses were invaiding his, seeming to say ' _see....see_...?' There was no time to dwell on the peculiar feelings though, as Will's attacker was mere feet away now, and the trembling gun was still not being used... it was time to pull the trigger... but look how bitter the man is... one could almost feel the madness radiating off of him... just a second more and- No more time was left for Will to persuade his fingers to pull the trigger when he felt the sharp, unforgiving rush of blinding pain of a blade slicing into him. The gun fell from his grasp with a thud which was drowned by the pain-stricken noise Will let out, followed by a chorus of drowning gurgles let out by the girl on the floor. He felt himself go limp, eyes locked onto the narrow maddening brown ones that met his, clearly soaking every tremmor of the act. As Will Graham fell to join the crimson sea, he could only lie and grasp at his abdomen with painful gasps of air. He stared, emotional, into the soulful blue eyes that lay across from his, unblinking, with his crooked bloodied glasses. The deep frozen blue colour of her eyes, illuminated by the fallen light, reminded Will of a simpler time of fishing and fixing motor boats with his father. A precious set of memories which only pained him even more to think about; footsteps around both victems became distant, and the last thing Will could recall was holding onto the girls neck to try and stop bloodflowing out of a hoplessly deep cut, whilst still holding onto his own nearly disembowled self.


	2. A peculiar case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is a young ER surgeon fresh from Florence; something about a young cop interests him....

It was a relitively quite night at the ER, which came in handy to the young faced Dr. Lecter. It gave him time to work on his medical illustations, drawing with fine lines of delicatly put ink. These illustrations had been a form of coping with homicidal urges, ever since he escaped his capture in Florence. Ah yes, those beautiful days in Florence where he would sit infront of Sandro Botticelli's 'la primavera' and worshipping it via sketching out the painting in pencil. Admiring it wasn't enough for Hannibal though, and soon the young man started killing, placing the victims in poses to copy Botticelli's work. He was soon called the Monster of Florence, after his group of killings were left with the signature mark of elegance and art. A proud name that had to be left behinde due to his capture; so he was forced to fake his own death and rise from the ashes in secret, far away from any crime he ever committed. 

It took nearly 2 years for Hannibal to build stable set of allibys, a well respected carrier and find himself a modest secluded home for carrying out any acts of sin. Suddenly Hannibal was cut off from his works of art and brought back to reality, out the depths of his memory palace. His beeper went off just as his colleagues called upon him to gather into the ambulance, a rush of doctor's coats and flashes of nurses roaming around as the ER team gathered into the ambulance. Setting aside the drawings neatly into a black leather-bound folder, Hannibal checked the time before heading towards the source of all the fuss. Flashing lights of colour and noise filled the air soon after Hannibal had taken his seat in the vehicle, drowning the noise out using his vast and powerful memory palace to play a classical music piece of Bach's 'Aria da Capo'. The window outside showed a dull view of passing lights in the night, the smells of his colleague's perfumes and variety of coffees violated Hannibal's sensitive nose. He wasn't tired like the rest of his 'team', for he thrived in the night like a creature of hell; his dark desires and sinful acts tainted his very soul, allowing him to thrive only in the blackest of nights in order to keep it all secret. It was a lonely existence. To constantly hide his true self behind a veil of forced normality. But it was necessary for someone as complicated and sophisticated as Hannibal Lecter. Who in this earth could ever truly understand him?

3:45am. The ambulance finally halted to a stop, and the paramedics flew out onto the scene, guided by nearby officers. Hannibal expected a drug induced crime at first guess, but something didn't seem quite so usual; reading the expressions on the officer's faces, Hannibal got out of his seat swiftly and walked a little towards the first cop he saw. It was a large young man with a ginger beard, who had the distinctive smell of newspapers. "What is the nature of this crime?" Hannibal's soft European accent caught the man's attention, and after a sly glance of worry the officer answered "A girl got stabbed by some psycho. My partner went to check it out and got stabbed up too. Pretty deep cut I heard, the poor sod, he was just a rookie." His typical American accent amused the Doctor, but so did his words; how was it that this police officer had gotten himself slashed when he had a gun to hand? Either the rookie was ambushed or he made some sort of ignorant mistake. It amused Hannibal even further, but he kept his external mask of pity on to conceal that fact. Perhaps it wasn't such a dull evening after all. The bright yellow jackets of the paramedics flashed in the headlights of police cars as they brought two bodies out of what seemed to be a grant old abandoned building. One of the smaller bodies was covered in a white sheet staining red, whilst the second had an oxygen mask attached to him. Shouts of orders soon followed the bodies, causing Hannibal to glide back into the ambulance to receive his new patient. Before Dr.Lecter could ask, a short blonde paramedic was already giving him the full report on the patient's physical state; "He's got a low respiratory rate, and a lot of blood loss coming from the incision made on his abdomen. He's passed out and has hypotension. I think he may need urgent surgery now" a bold statement coming from a paramedic, but to her credit she wasn't wrong. Hannibal checked the patient's pulse pressure, which seemed to be narrow. This man was likely to go into comatose, or die. He finally tuned in his full attention on to the blood drenched man in front of him, and quietly noticed details of this dying man: He had wet raven curls which softened a strikingly square jaw and button nose, startling pale skin outlined with a buzzcut neat beard. Large eyes with full long lashes were half open, the young face looking no older than in his mid twenties. Something inside Hannibal stirred, the sight of this damaged young man had somehow caused a disturbance in the Monster's limited emotions. The smell of this man's blood and sweat seemed... almost too sweet to dismiss. But dismissed is what it was. "I'm going to need to know the usual patient information and more; his blood type, glucouse levels, blood count, PT/aPTT. I'll begin the laparoscopy when we get to the hospital, and put him on morphine. " Hannibal's plesent voice got everyone on the move, taking the orders and taking action. The hospital was only two minutes away Hannibal calculated as they passed Lake Portchartrain. Soon, he would have the proper tools to save this peculiar cop's life and perhaps finish his previous sketches. 

* * * 

Dr.Lecter was the only surgeon available to treat the patient that was identified as 'Officer Will Graham' from the issued badge on Graham's navy blue uniform that was cut away from his limp body. A team of nurses helped to expose Will's toned torso in order to begin the agonizing surgery. A haze of masks, scalples and stitches later, Will Graham was left to rest with a tube thoracostomy, gastric decompression whilst putting him on antibiotics, antixiolytics and morphine, Hannibal checked off the list in his head. It was the end of his shift by the time he was fully done stabilizing his new patient, so the drained doctor took his belongings and started to make his way to the reception in order to sign out when he dazely remembered that he had wanted to know the full police report on what had happened last night. He voiced this curiosity to the receptionist and asked her where he would be able to acquire such information. She simply responded with "Oh, that last homocide call? You're in luck, I have a copy of the report to hand here. It's only just come through. " The spanish diva handed Hannibal a few papers paperclipped together, then turned her attention back to typing on her ancient computer. 

He didn't bother opening the file until he drove all the way home, set in a secluded part of the woods. Hannibal's wealth hadn't only come from his job as an ER surgeon but also from his inheritance of the family fortune. In all technicality, his proper title was Count Hannibal Lecter, a title he was born into thanks to his parents back in Lithuania. But his modesty prefered a title that was earned, and now that he was orphaned, he insists on only being called "Doctor". This made him able to afford a fine taste, enjoying the tall ceilings, polished black marble floors and mahogany desks of his home. The hallway had a heavy wooden door and lined with fine art collected by Hannibal from his travels. Small statues of bronze stood around the fire place of an office room, rare psychology books littered the upper deck perfectly arranged, a glass cabinate of a viarity of crystal glasses along with alcoholic drinks, and an impossibly neatly arranged desk of papers along side fountain pens was set with a leather bound office chair nearby, matching the furniture around. Tall curtains of royal velvet and indigo drapped golden framed windows, flattereing the gold harpsichord placed at another room that seemed to be used souly for guests and music. An impressively long dinner table stood at the center of the room, carved dark wood set with constantly new decors of flowers, exotic fruites, small animal bones and fabrics to exploit Hannibal's passion in presentation; especially when it came to food. No room compared to the kitchen. Neatly polished white and black marble shined as much as it's perfect set of knives that were displayed above the stove, every cutlery sharpened, every utensil cared for, and all the ingredients nothing but fresh from farmers markets and personal butchers. The china Hannibal owned was also more expensive than he admited was necessary, and all drinking glasses were crystal. And so even though he was exhausted after a long night of saving lives, Hannibal still enjoyed taking the extra effort to make himself a fancy full meal and additional glass of white wine before opening the police report and scanning through; 

_Case No. 109 Location: 17th Stageriff avenue Date: 9/02 Incident: homocide of a girl and stabbing of an officer Detail of event: After a 911 call reported a suspicious man entering an abandoned building leading a girl at 2:50am, by a unreliable source by the name of Benjy Franklin. Officer Robert G.Wing called Homicide officer Will Graham to check out the scene and report back immediately. After receiving an additional call from Franklin and no response from officer Graham, at 3:15am four police officers were dispatched to the said location. At the scene officer Graham was found unconscious from a single stab wound next to a young girl that was later identified as Abigail Hobbs; Graham had attempted to stop the bleeding from both of the victim's wounds, but failed to help Abigail Hobbs. She was 17 years old when her father Garret Jacob Hobbs lead his daughter into the abandoned building and cut her throat. She was pronounced dead at the scene. The Hobbs' family house was checked out the moment an address was found. A SWAT team raided the premises and found the wife and mother, Louise Hobbs dead with throat cut. The man responsible, Garret J. Hobbs, was in the house at the time and was gunned down by a SWAT team trooper in the kitchen when he attempted to attack the team with a kitchen knife. The crimes committed had not been drug induced and it is suspected that Mr. Hobbs suffered from temporary insanity; although no records state Garret Jacob Hobbs ever suffered from any previous mental health difficulties. Summary: Officer Will Graham was taken to East New Orleans hospital for surgery and care, whilst an autopsy is being performed on the bodies of the Hobbs family. The investigation is looking into any possible past victims of Mr. Hobbs and is being treated seriously as a multi homicide._

The rest of the report seemed unimportant for Hannibal to read as he skimmed through the last additions written. He already knew what injuries this Will Graham had obtained and where, but the report never mentioned the specific weapon used to cut into him and Abigail, and the autopsy could take weeks before Hannibal could swipe a secret copy. Lecter lay back in his polished leather armchair with his glass of chardonnay and proceeded to amuse himself with the reconstruction of the crime scene using the limited knowledge he had obtained. Hannibal Lecter closed his eyes. The cut Graham had taken to the abdomen was deep and clean, something that could only be performed by someone with a steady hand and experience. Hannibal used this information to assume that Garret Jacob Hobbs knew exactly how to cut Will and his daughter Abigail, and that the man had planned his daughter's certain death but the officer's rude interruption was rewarded with a slower death of disembowelment; or so he planned. Hobbs hadn't thought of the late night witness that reported him and saved Will Graham's life. It seemed unlikely that this was Hobbs's first time killing, Hannibal knew that much. A steady hand like that could only have been used by a present mind, which eliminated the possibility of any 'temporary insanity'. So the man was used to blood. Used to stalking his prey. Perhaps he had a profession in the medical field? Or more likely Hobbs was a hunter with the surrounding woods and lakes common in Louisiana. And if he was a hunter, there would be a cabin. Hannibal's eyes flew open, his mind calculating and profiling the killer Hobbs. 

The inhumanly cunning mind of the trained psychologist and surgeon Dr.Lecter put pieces of the crime together, producing answers and questions alike, exiting probabilities that needed to be confirmed. And to do so, he needed photographs of the crime scene, visit the Hobbs family home and find the possible cabin before the police figure out Garret Jacob Hobbs was a hunter. But all of the obvious questions about the killer Hobbs didn't compare to the questions Hannibal had about the newly officer in homicide, Graham. The report said nothing about the new cop being unarmed, so he had to have had his gun drawn out. Any normal officer would have fired the instant they saw the glint of a weapon in the opponent's hand; and yet no one had heard or reported gunshots. Nothing was said or written about a gun malfunction or damage, so why hadn't Graham shot the murderous Mr. Hobbs? Lecter considered for a moment that Graham had been ambushed, but dismissed that thought after realizing it would have been nearly impossible to cut Graham in such a way from behind. The only left explanation was that the cop hesitated much too long before he paid the price. And even then, he used his final strength to try and stop the hopeless blood flow of the Abigail girl and himself (which would mean he was close enough to her to stare into her dying eyes it seems), instead of picking the gun back up to finish off his attacker. How... peculiar.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment/ kudos and share :))


	3. Comatose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal snoops around, his facination with Will growing, eager for him to wake up.

A steady drizzle fell from angry clouds, rain drops caught in the silvery blonde hair of Dr. Lecter, as he crossed the driveway to get into the shelter of his car. He turned the collar of his coat against the chilling east wind, feeling a few wet drops slither their way down his neck. Eager was the Doctor to go back to the hospital, his sleep interrupted by thoughts and questions after reading last night's report.

This Will Graham was a peculiar man. It's unfortunate that the coma he was in would prevent Hannibal from dissecting the strange mind to get the answers he craved, although it was only a matter of time before he did awake; or die. That was also a possibility. And strangely enough, it actually seemed to bother him, for some reason or another. 'Not knowing' always had bothered him. Finally he reached for the car door, feeling the cold leather beneath him. The smell of wet ground and jasmine followed him inside, a moment taken to appreciate such essence, before the ignition key turned and growled.

* * *

It was 12am at New Orleans East hospital, where in room 608 a coma patient Will Graham lay. Nothing but the sound of life support machines, forcing air into Will's lungs with the rythem of ticks and tocks of the clock above his door, a steady beep of his heart monitor joining in. Glancing at the tubes and wires attatched, Hannibal checked Will's chart at the foot of the bed. The night nurses had seemed to do most of the regular tasks, all that was left to do was check the wound for it's recovery. Putting the chart back, Dr. Lecter slide his hands into a pair of latex gloves and proceeded to lift Will's hospital gown till it exposed his stomach. Observing with cold professional eyes, the wound he had stiched up the night before was healing well. Pressing gently around the cut proved no infection. The long, painful smile that was carved into Will's abdomen had colours of blue and purple around it. The check up was done, but Hannibal didn't want to leave the room just yet; looking around Will's bed, he observed the lack of flowers or "Get well soon" cards, only exception being a cheap looking envelope that was clearly signed by another police officer; perhaps Graham's partner in the force. No chairs were pushed to Will's side, signaling the possibility he had no close visitors. Did no one care to visit the slashed up man infront of him? Surely with those relatively attractive looks he had some string of lovers at least, anyone of them perhaps written in as his emergancy contact? A look at the registration office's list for 608 visitors proved his assumptions to be right. So this man had isolated himself from human comfort. Interesting. Hannibal didn't know why he was getting so caught up in Will Graham's case, but something about that man smelled like a hidden opportunity.

Perhaps it was just boredom speaking, but a decision was silently made to visit Will's home in order to get to know more about the man with the carved inn smile. But Hannibal's hospital shift had only just begun, and after doing his mandatory tasks, all that was left to do was wait to be summoned by his team. So the rest of the night shift was spent illustrating medical anatomy of a man's torso in fine italian ink, with a resemblance to a familer face edged inn by the will of Hannibal's subconscious.

* * *

It was only a 30 minute drive from the Hannibal's place to Will's little house in the woods, the address being easy enough to find. Sunrays barely touched the horizon when Hannibal's stealthy car pulled up to the side of the house. He noted how paint was chipping from the once white exterior of the doorway, the steps on the porch creaking under his weight. The noise caused a rumble of scuffling paws and whines, freezing Hannibal on the spot; of course. The isolated man had made himself a family of his own, one with fur and paws. A dog flap lifted to present a stream of different dogs, sniffing at the foot of the tall stranger. Fur all over his trousers. Lovely. After easily picking the lock of the front door, Hannibal took the time to fill up the food and water bowls of the starving animals; best to not let Will's furry friends die off.

After taking note to hire for someone to care for Will's dogs for the future, Hannibal started his snooping in Will's bedroom. The moth eaten blinds were drawn, illuminating white tangled bed covers. Sweet oder of sweat raidited from the sheets, making it obvious that the man must be a restless sleeper. Hannibal considered for the first time that Will could be suffering from mental illness: then he found that fact to be much too obvious. It would explain the constant need for companionship and yet the ruthless isolation from people, a method to protect vulnerability. Walking into the bathroom, empty aspirin bottles littered the floor. No other medication. Interesting. So no therapist to prescribe much needed antidepressants.

Moving into the living room, the clutter of books and fishing equipment claimed an old wooden desk. A closer look would show that the books and coffee stained papers were all based on psychology, criminology, law and behavioural sciences, impressive for a simple cop. Judging by the old papers written by Will, the man had a definite keen knowledge for criminal profiling. Strange hobby for someone of Will's nature. Someone who snuggles up at the fire place with his many dogs, drinking what smelt like scotch and crafted his own fishing lures seemed like the actions of a man with more passion for the simple life. Nothing in this damned house gave the answers Hannibal sought.

The trip only spiked his curiosity even higher instead of curing it: there was no way around it. Dr. Lecter had to wait till Will awakens from his comatose, and finally speak to the man whom he found too fascinating to let go.


	4. Pity for the fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will awakes, and has his first interaction with Lecter.

The sound of machinery was deffaning. A steady chorus of beeps in the dark. The deep sleep beconned for him, but the cloud of peacful darkness would lift slightly with each passing moment. The beeping suddenly started to escalate, and panic started to set in. Where was he?

Eyelids fluttered open and greated with a painfully white room. Senses started to comeback one at a time and the awareness of tubes down his throat was all too much. One at a time, he pulled out the tubes, irritating the inside of his esophagus. His weak limbs could barely support the weight of walking, suddenly crumbling to the floor with gasps of pain; he grabbed at the bandages of his stomach to discover a neatly stiched wound. As he kneeled at his hospital bed, the events of the unfortunate night came pouring back.

The call.

Man with a knife.

A girl...

He hadn't had the time to crawl back onto his beding when the sound of a door opening startled him frozen. The figure that walked in was a tall man in a doctors coat. His features were startling, with high cheekbones covered by fair skin, framed by a square jaw and silvery blonde hair that was perfectly combed aside. But what was startling of all were the pair of almond shape eyes, a piercing maroon. The red eyes darted towards the slumped man on the floor of his bed, his own watery blue pair meeting the dominate gaze.

> "You're awake. Would you like some assistance Mr. Graham?" a rhetorical question it seems, as the doctor glided over to him to help. Will noticed the soft European accent of the man with mild curiosity; but for now there were more important things to think about. After letting the doctor assist him, Will awkwardly avoided eye contact as he soon became very aware of the limited amount of clothing he was wearing. "Thank you, doctor..." "Lecter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I am your surgeon and carer whilst you're here. Do you remember why you are here Mr. Graham?" Dr. Lecter asked politely as he took a seat at the foot of Will's hospital bed. Flashes of memory sprung into his consciousness. "Yes..." Will shifted uncomfortably, "I remember being called to investigate a reported area for suspicious activity. There was a man who stabbed me, and a girl..." A lump in his throat started to form as he remembered the gaze of that poor girl. She had been completely slashed. "The girl, did she make it?" his hopeful eyes finally met with the maroon gaze. The answer was sickeningly obvious. "I'm sorry to say that the girl you saw that night did not make it. Did you know her personally?" "No, I just... " words failed to Will. "What was her name?" "Abigail Hobbs. She was 17 years old. Tragic loss." Feelings of sorrow over whelmed Will, numbed and cold; like the body of Abigail Hobbs. The girl he couldn't save. "What about the man. Was he caught? Do you know who he was, what the motive was..?" this seemed to provoke a head tilt from the Doctor. "If you feel up to hearing the truth, I am willing to tell you everything you'd like to know. But first I should ask you simple questions of necessity; would you like any food or water?" The need for food and water overpowered the need to know. "Yes, food and water sound great" Dr. Lecter smiled. After two glasses of much needed water and couple of sandwiches, the conversation resumed.
> 
> "The man who attacked you was Garret Jacob Hobbs. Abigail was his daughter. It is unknown what the motivation of his crimes were, but when the SWAT team raided the Hobbs' home they found his wife dead too. Garret Jacob Hobbs was then gunned down in the kitchen by a trooper. The reason you're alive is because the homicide department had gotten another call from a witness; if it weren't for the witness you would have bled out." Will sat staring at his fidgeting hands, nodding solemnly to the words of the Doctor as his mind started to work its analysis. "And how long have I been asleep?" There was a short pause. "Two weeks. You fell into a coma after the incident. I know this is a lot to interpret Mr. Graham and if you'd like to sometime alone to call someone, or perhaps I can assign a trauma councler for you?" the question was respectful in everyway. But why did it sound so _taunting_? "I don't need anyone to poke around my head. I'm a police officer in Homicide, I can handle this. And .. oh god... my dogs-" Will suddenly jerked up right and stared wildly at Dr. Lecter. "I need to get to my home immediately." Lecter's gaze never left Will's as he spoke in reassurance, "There is no need for you to panic, your address was checked after the lack of 'emergency contact', where your feline companions were discovered. I personally volunteered to hire a care taker to feed and water them whilst you are being hospitalised." Will was taken aback. He wasn't sure if this was a normal thing for someone to do, but he didn't want to dwell on it much longer. The silence between them had lasted a beat too long before he answered with a simple shaky "Thank you" and a smile. Dr. Lecter seemed to reciprocate, but the smile never reached his eyes... "Shall I leave you to rest?" "No, no I think I've rested rested long enough. If I'm not keeping you back, I'd enjoy the company of the man who saved my life." The request for the Doctor to stay was more than just out of curtesy, it was silently a plea to not be left alone with his own thoughts. Will feared that his mind could turn against him after going through more psychological trauma. Lecter checked his watch. "Luckily I do in fact have time. If you would like-" Dr. Lecter was interrupted by ringing. A phone on the opposing wall was ringing. Lecter stood to pick it up, conversing to someone on the other line for only a few seconds before turning to Will; "A co-worker of yours is on the line. He wants to know if you feel up to giving your opinion on something. I'm assuming its a matter of work." Will reached for his glasses on the desk and sighed. "Well now that I'm awake I suppose I can at least make use of myself. Please Doc, send him in."
> 
> A few minutes had passed after Dr. Lecter left, and one of Will's police co-workers replaced his company. Will didn't know the bearded man personally. Then again, he didn't know anyone personally. Officer Wilson had come in with a file thick enough for it to be evident to Will what Wilson wanted before he had even asked. "Have you been told about Garret Jacob Hobbs?" was his leading question. Will sighed. "Yes, the man killed his wife and daughter, slashed me up pretty good then was gunned down" "Good, well the case had been pretty much solved until today; last week the body of Abigail Hobbs was stolen from her autopsy and discovered just this morning in a cabin the Hobbs family used. The department is stubbed, and the FBI are likely to take over if we don't handle this. Its your call to give us a lead, we're all out" the earnest tone of the large man truly betrayed his defeat. Will opened the file and looked at the photos: in a wooden room full of stag horns hung the pale naked corps of Abigail Hobbs. The antlers sticking out of her torso, her black hair curtained her face, a display of cruelty. Shivers ran through Will and the feeling of helplessness came back. "... Um, was this Mr. Hobbs' cabin? How often was it used?" "Close friends say a lot, the maniac was a hunter. He'd take his daughter there too. Do you have any idea who would do this?" Will nodded to every word, half listening whilst he lost himself in the evidence. "No, this wasn't anyone who knew Mr. Hobbs, not personally at least. I'm sorry but I'm going to need some more time. Give me till morning, I'll have something by then." Wilson nodded gravely and left.

The room felt uncomfortably quite making Will wish that Doctor Lecter had stayed; something about that man attracted Will. He had an air of perfect stability and intellect, judging by his accent it was safe to assume the man also travelled; a perfect companion to help Will keep distracted from his mind whilst he stays in recovery. It would be likely for him to stay here for another month, if not more.


	5. Sessions with Lecter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psychopaths can infact feel love; but they love obsessively and relentlessly. Something starts to bloom between the two men, but it's gone unnoticed by either.

Two weeks Hannibal had waited to have a simple conversation with Will Graham. Two weeks of guess work and deductions, although as fun as it was, he had decided simple talks wouldn't seem like enough to really get to know Will. So Hannibal had come up with the perfect way to provoke Graham; twisted as it were, the body of Abigail Hobbs was easy enough to steal after the guards had been chloroformed and their passes stolen. Luckily the homicide department hadn't learned of Garret Jacob's cabin just yet, and the setting of the antlers was much too tempting to not put to use.

Symbolism, elegance, was all much more important than suffering: he hoped Will could perhaps look past his own suffering and see the crime scene the way it was meant to be seen. A form of art. Mounting the petite body smoothly at a far side wall, Hannibal enjoyed taking his time with the simple project. Creating his design.

When he had found William sprawled beside the bed, he couldn't help but feel exited. He had built up to this moment in his head, keeping the eagerness hidden behind a blank mask he had perfected over the years in order to never betray his true emotion. Following his hesitation, Lecter started to read the patient: whilst residing the events of Will's stabbing, Will showed no interest in making eye contact except on the occasion where he spoke of his pets. The moment Abigail Hobbs was mentioned William seemed to loose himself in thought, it didn't seem that he noticed this though. Disassociation is a clear sign of psychological trauma. Strange for someone with such a fragile sanity to put himself in damaging situations and carriers. Self destructive behaviour. Anxiety. All boxes checked off for someone with an empathy disorder. Those impossibly blue eyes could see through any man, know them, understand them, see them... uncomfortable gift to have when the only people Will gets close to are killers.

His gut instinct was right; this _was_ an opportunity.

Which returns us to the present moment. The day after their first interaction, Will had asked for the Doctor early that morning for his opinion and advise on a case handed to Will by the large man who visited the night before. At first it seemed like unusual behaviour for a man who prefers isolation to human company; and then an amazing thought came to mind. What if Will's talent in profiling killers, made him subconsciously attracted to them? It was an exhilarating thought. A wonderful opportunity for manipulation.

Hannibal knocked on the wooden door, waiting for permission to see the empath provoked. A low mumble granted him access. Will was sat up right in his heap of linen sheets, glasses magnifying his dark circles, head of ruffled curls poking in all directions.

> "Restless night I presume?" commented Hannibal as he drew out a chair to join William in sitting. "I've slept for two weeks straight, a few restless nights won't hurt" Will mumbled. It wasn't a rude remark, simply defensive sarcasm. "Regardless, if insomnia keeps you up please feel free to ask one of the nurses for a sleeping pill." "Getting to sleep... is not the problem, it's just something else" of course Hannibal knew that it was the nightmares that kept Will from sleep. But he didn't know what it was William dreamt of. "You know, I am a fully qualified psychiatrist as well as a surgeon; you can speak to me about it if you'd want." Will looked up at Hannibal in a shy glance. "So I've heard from the nurses. Thank you, Doctor but I can't afford therapy, and I personally don't think it would work on me. I know all the tricks." "Well then let us have friendly conversations, perhaps it can still be helpful to you Mr. Graham" "Please, call me Will. I prefer it. As to the reason I had asked for you, I need an outsider's input; my mind has been too foggy lately and I've heard you're a brilliant psychiatrist and philosopher. Perhaps you could put your input on profiling a potential killer, if you don't mind?" What a precious attempt he had made to sound polite for Hannibal. He appreciated the effort, liking the fact William had asked for him, and no one else. A smile creeped up on his face. "Of course. I'd be honoured to help an officer of the law. What is crime?" Will handed him the file, photographs of Hannibal's work lay loosely in-between the papers. "So someone stole the body of Abigail Hobbs and hung it in her fathers cabin?" Hannibal mocked slyly. "No, no he _displayed_ her body. This isn't just some random act of violence, this is a theatrical display." Impressive. "Who is he performing for? What could be the motive?" "That's where you come in Doctor. I'm pretty sure I have the answer but it's just out of reach." Bitterness leaked into Will's tone of voice. Was he ashamed of asking for his help? "Perhaps Garret Jacob Hobbs may have gotten himself an admirer-" "No, no. This is not admiration." Will had cut Hannibal off. But he was right. "Well then if this wasn't work of admiration then this display is being used to catch attention" This caused Will to perk up. "That would make sense, yes, perhaps its a message. But what is it saying?! Who is it aimed at... it seems like a very elegant message to write. The man who did this is experienced. Someone who knew how to find and steal a body from a morgue, someone who discovered the cabin before the police had. A man of great intellect and skill. See the puncture wounds from the antlers? Abigail was mounted gracefully, not violently; there was no post-mortem bruising, see?" "...Which would mean that the man you're seeking is strong enough to mount her, but has no emotional ties to the body or crime. Will, this man must know something we don't. How else would he have known about the cabin?" Hannibal chimed in. "Good point, Doctor." "Please, call me Hannibal. We are on friendly terms." This made Will's spaced out gaze focus back to reality. It was clear that the concept of human friendship was new to him. "If you feel comfortable with it..." he trailed off.

Was that a blush in his cheeks?

> "I do. And you say that this is a man of experience. Experience in what? Dead bodies?" "I'm not sure but, I think this might be a serial killer exposing another." "Wait, so are you saying Hobbs was a serial killer?" Will shrugged. "It wouldn't be surprising, don't you think? Hobbs was a hunter with no mental health issues, his stabbing spree could have been homicidal urges he couldn't hold back any longer. The way he had cut his daughter- it was his own way of loving her. It would make sense for him to have ' _loved_ ' others before hand." The way Will talked about Hobbs was like he knew it for a fact.

Empath to killer.

> "If I may say so Will, that is some impressive profiling. I can see you being very valued in your department." Hannibal loved how Will's feelings were betrayed by his expressive soft face. Complementing him had made the man laugh nervously, which made Lecter feel... something. Something warm bloomed in his cold chest at the sight of William's smile. "I appreciate the compliment, Hannibal. But honestly I'm only ever useful when it comes to profiling, my skills are limited to my knowledge. The other cops are much more skilled in the field than I am." "That shouldn't mean your unique skill-set should go unappreciated; Will, could I ask a question that might be uncomfortable? Why did you let Hobbs slash you like that."
> 
> Silence. Ticks and tocks of the clock invaded the quite until, Will replied: "I... got lost in my head- in his head... I couldn't control when I associate my mind with killers..." Hannibal leaned closer to Will and lowered his voice, "And being in the mind-set of Hobbs, why did you get slashed?"

A solemn voice replied,

"Because... I wanted to see what would happen."


	6. Love beats Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's mind threatens unstability, making Will vulnerable to his feelings...

Cold. Numb. Broken. 

Will was standing in the middle of the dark parts of his messy mind palace. He did not have any control on weather or not he visits these unpleasant rooms, or the things his fear-fuelled imagination shows him. It was all out of his control, the lines of reality and fiction blurring together with the constant thoughts of murder swimming up from the subconscious, into the fore-front of his mind. 

Darkness. He was stranded in it, pale, naked and alone - no, not alone. There was someone lying on the ground in front of him, her pale skin was stained red with wounds spotted all around her, the abused body rising into the air soundlessly. Will's hands were stained red, the silver curved blade of his Linoleum knife glimmered in his hand. He felt powerful. A quite sense of harmonious calm washed over him, pride and madness overcoming the human being he once was; but something fought back. Waves of dread and emotion weighed in on his other half, fighting the part of him who was a heartless monster. The war between his emotions and madness was tearing his physical being apart, screaming anguish into the blackened sky, his face contorting into that of a beast's, _pain,_

_pain,_

_pain..._

Will woke up screaming, sweat and tears drenched him cold as he panted.  His anxiety was high and his breathing was difficult to control, the thin hospital gown stuck annoyingly to his skin; stripping it off without second thought, throwing it to the ground and wrapping his covers around him like a make-shift cloak, (the fabric pressing against his back comforted him.) Shaky, he turned on his bedside lamp in order to bring some form of illumination. The dark parts of the room bothered him too much.  Will got up from his sweat-stained bed with a grunt, putting on slippers and shuffling out the door. Looking down the gloomy corridors on each side, he saw no night nurses, so he gripped tight to the blanket around him and proceeded to shuffle towards a door for storage/cleaning supplies. Clothes was on his mind, searching random boxes of cardboard for a 'Lost & Found' under terrible lighting and chemical smells. Finally, luck was on his side when Will pulled out a old box filled with random scraps of clothing.  He exited that cupboard wearing a light blue flannel shirt, with trousers held up by a brown leather belt, all accompanied with shoes his size. He'd also picked out a dark green ripped jacket that smelt like men's cologne, which he hung around his shoulders protectivley. The reason he had the sudden need to have clothing of his own was because his nightmares had been making him feel out of control these last 3 weeks. His wound was healing slow, trapping him in that bed for too long. He needed to feel in control again, needed to distract himself from the constant fears and nightmares he had in the dead of nights. He missed his dogs so much... The only company he was pleased to have was Dr. Lecter's, discussing crime scenes with him made the burden of profiling so much easier by some miracle reason. As Will wondered back into his little room, he was greeted by Dr. Lecter's maroon eyes at a seat by his bedside.

> "There you are," the Doctor smiled. "I wondered where you'd run off to. Feeling restless?" Will shuffled to sit at the edge of his bed. "I feel liquid... like I'm spilling... I feel unstable, Doctor. I can't stay here much longer. " his voice was monotone. Will knew Lecter was analysing him, he had learned over time to never underestimate how much Hannibal could read off of a man; especially him. "If you'd like to, I can take you to visit my home. You've rested long enough for it to be relatively safe for you to take a walk, but it's clear that you've already discovered that... I could make you dinner, pour you a drink and get you back by morning. How does that sound?" It was an interesting offer, thats for sure. Hannibal was very kind to volunteer to help him feel better, and without realizing it he was already nodding in agreement. "It's decided then; shall we?"

Hannibal stood and outstretched his arm to offer it to Will. He accepted it. Leaning onto his new friend as they both walked through the empty hospital, Will couldn't help but notice the scent of Dr. Lecter: he smelt of old parchment, fine wine and warm leather. It was pleasing to Will's senses in a way he couldn't yet explain. Hannibal's arm was strong and steady, his thin cotton shirt cloaking what felt like perfectly toned muscles. Will wondered why he had noticed that...  

*      *      *

The drive was short and quite, classical music softly played as Hannibal's car drove through the night. Will was highly impressed by the standards Lecter lived; the house and art alike seemed to be worth far too much for even a surgeon to afford.

 

> "What do you do to afford this place? It's very impressive. " Will asked casually as Hannibal helped him take a seat in the black marbled kitchen. "I was born into it, my parents were of high social standards back in Lithuania. But I prefer not to use their money anymore than I have to, I respect my job too much for it. " Hannibal's smile was mysterious, offering Will pink wine and putting on an apron. Was he going to cook for him now in the dead of night? The thought of proper food tempted Will, hospital food had made him sick. A chorus of kitchen clunks and tinkers sounded as Hannibal started to prepare his ingredients. Will leaned on the counter, eyes lazily watching the Doctor glide across the kitchen busily. Hannibal's sleeves were pulled up, revealing lean tan arms, delicate fingers held a knife to a tender piece of meat; "I'll be making a light protien scramble. You'll need the protien for your recovery, and I despise the nutrition at the hospital, their food is hardly edible. " Will nodded. "Preach to that..." He was too distracted by Hannibal's movements. The way his white apron never got a speck of food on it, or how fast Hannibal was able to dice his ingredients. This wasn't just cooking; it was a show. A quick flick of the wrist with Hannibal's spatula caused his egg to crack in mid air. He made it seem so effortless, but the small smirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed the pride he had for his little trick. Will continued to stare in awe at the delightful performance. "Tell me, what are you wearing Will. It smells of a stranger." Ah yes, the strange clothes he had picked out.  Quite the embarrassing topic to discuss with a man who only wears the finest clothing... "Erm, I got it out of the lost & found. I just needed a change, I know it looks dreadful. " He looked down in embarrassment. "May I be bold to suggest you take something of mine? My wardrobe is vast and I have a whole section of unworen cloths." Will looked startled into his host's eyes, but this time it was the other man who averted his gaze. "That is very kind of you, but I couldn't possibly-" "William, I would like to be your friend. This means that you should not feel embarrassed to ask for my help; in fact consider it a gift. We can't have you walking around looking and smelling like someone you're not, can we?"

It took Will a while to find something he liked and change into it in Hannibal's personal bedroom. He was quite facinated by the quality of the fine silk sheets of the crimson red bed, but also thought of how easy it was to slip off during sleep. Deciding against snooping around, he walked back down stairs to find his way back into the kitchen in his new salmon pink shirt, suite trousers held by black leather belt, his shoes clearly expensive and Italian. He looked much better than he felt, although he did try to fix his hair which made him look more or less presentable as his stepped into the light, a new coat hanging from his arm. As Hannibal glanced up he froze for a moment and stared.

> "Is something wrong Dr. Lecter? I appreciate the clothes greatly but if you are having second thoughts on the matter... " This caused the man to unfreeze, moving to take off his still stainless apron. "No, no of course not. I simply think you look much better now that you have your own clothes picked out by yourself. Shall we take this to the dinner table? I've already laid it so if you would simply take your drink and follow me..." Both men sat themselves across from each other, sipping wine and listening to music that Will guessed was a classical piece from Bach. He also noticed how seriously Hannibal took cooking, the food displayed like it was the crème de la crème, his dinner table was mahogany wood covered in navy fabric, exotic fruits, animal skulls and strange scented flowers. He looked towards Hannibal, the man's posture and manner was mesmerizing. "You truly are genius in the kitchen. Were you ever a chef?"  "I am flattered, but no. Cooking has been my passion and an art form I only care to share with a specific audience. " Specific audience?  "Well then I'm honoured to be your guest.
> 
> The meal was amazing, thank you very much." They were both done with their meals quite quickly, Will's host moving smoothly to clear the table and escort him into an office. "Would you be so kind as to start the fire? I will pour us both some brandy." Will was more than happy to be useful, although it was painful to bend down towards the fire place he was easily able to start up a roaring fire just before Hannibal arrived in a waistcoat, glasses of burgundy liquid in hand. Hannibal was sure making a lot of effort to impress, Will noticed, but clearly he had kept it modest. Rising slowly, he seated himself in one of the arm chairs facing the flame. "Would you like to discuss your recent insomnia?" Instantly he sighed heavily, "Please, Will don't avoid the topic and let me help. I know you've been sleepless lately... tell me, what do you see when you close your eyes? Who haunts you?" The fire burned his eyes, it's warmth never truly reaching his cold emotions.  "I see myself. As the killer... as all the killers I've ever profiled, merged into me until I'm nothing but the host of all of those who murdered..." There was a pause. There was more, so much more that needed to be pouring out of him but, it was all too hard. "You can understand those killers too much for comfort, so much so that the only comfort you have is the thought of murder." Oh god, _oh god he knows, knows that I'm a freak_.  "Will please don't worry; I do not think any less of you, this is a normal reaction for an empath. Your attraction to violence is what comforts and scares you simultaneously, your dreams, graphic fantasies are who you now are; tell me, who's blood is on your hands when you close your eyes?" Against all rational thought, Will opened up. "I see Abigail... I see her impaled on those stag horns. I see her throat get slashed by my knife. And- and I feel _good_. I feel good and powerful, like it's the righteous thing to do, I find the blood spill aesthetically pleasing. Its sickening, I know. " He bowed his head in shame, his face strained and his voice choked up. A gentle hand wrested on his. "Far from it." Murmered Lecter, meeting his gaze was hypnotic. "You developed a connection to Abigail over a quick space of time. Usually people aren't able to do that- but you are not usual. In your fantasies you love her the same way her father loved, and the only way you know how; by elevating her murder to a form of art. You will feel saddned, pained by her loss, but pain is poetic. It has beauty in it, much like she was left beautiful, and cold. Death, violence, torture... they are works of art painted by creatures who are simply not appreciated. You are the rare appreciator of these beasts. That is your burden, and your gift, and I praise you for it. "

Will never took his eyes off of Hannibal's. Every word he heard echoed in him, but all he could do was stop himself from nearly crying in relief; he was understood. This man understood him and still wanted to stay by his side. What kind of cruel kindess was this? Nothing felt better than being accepted. Suddenly Will never wanted to be alone again, never wanted to battle his mind without Hannibal, never wanted to leave his company, his safety... because he never knew how _lonely_ he was until that very moment. 

 

> "You're right about who I am... but do you really accept me for it?" his voice shook a little.  "Without a doubt. I am sorry for getting so personal like this, it's late and you're vulnerable. Perhaps you'd like to spend the night? Or whatever's left of it at least, I really don't mind. You could take my bed and I'll bring out another mattress, you seem much too weary to take on the trip back to the hospital. " Hannibal was eager to change subjects, but he wasn't wrong about Will being strangely tired. "I wouldn't want to burden you that way..." A yawn escaped his lips before he could think of anything else to say. "Nonsense, I instant on it. Let me lead you to the washroom, I will get you a water proof bandaid and run a bath for you immediately. Please, let me help you stand" He was all too kind to him, letting Will lean onto his shoulder as they climed the soundless stairs.

To get on the waterproof bandaid, Will needed to strip himself off his new shirt. He thought it would feel strange to take off his only layer of protection, he thought the exposure would leave him feeling insecure. But that wasn't the case. Hannibal insisted on putting the bandaid onto Will himself, his touch gentle but firm felt like a shock of energy. It took a few seconds longer than he thought it should have, Hannibal clearly taking his time to apply it perfectly.

> "I'll leave you be, shall I?" Lecter started to walk away when Will shouted, "Wait!" Hannibal twirled back round. Their last talk had left Will feeling vulnerable, unstable... "I know this is a strange thing to ask but- could you please spend the night in the same room? I don't think my thoughts, my visions will ever leave me alone if I don't have company..." It was an embarrassing request, clearly it was too much to ask. But he had grown so close to Hannibal these last few weeks, he trusted him. Hannibal's face softened into a warm smile. "Of course. I would be happy to. Would you prefer I bring the mattress here or... " Was- was Hannibal asking if he wanted to sleep in the same bed as him? The words 'no' nearly escaped from his mouth but then he froze for a moment: did he really want Hannibal to spend the night in the same room as him? Or was he just masking his own desire to... Be with this man? Will had never felt this way about anyone before, no one would ever want him that way. But did this man want him? Was his question genuine or mocking? "I take it, by your silence, that I've offended you." Will snapped back into reality. "What? No, no! I'd really appreciate your compamy next to me... If you'd want that. Thank you for the bath by the way, please don't wait up for me."

He awkwardly shuffled half naked towards the bathroom doors, his acceptance of Hannibal's offer was ringing through his head. He was really going to do this. This was going to happen. _Oh my god what did I get myself into, why do I feel like this. Forget butterflys, there's an army of mutant moths ramming against my stomach. Just... Calm yourself down William, you can handle this. He thought to himself._ He really needed to calm down, so as he climed into the warm water, he reassured himself with reasoning. _Hannibal is my friend, of course, thats what I'm feeling. It's just exilirating that he accepts you, he's caring, he's a wonderful cook, smart, can appreciate my darker sides, has hypnotic red eyes, constantly smelled amazing and everytime he wears something a little tighter than usual it just feels... Oh._ The realization that Will had feelings for Hannibal hit him like a bag of bricks, and he had no idea how to deal with them. All he could do at that moment was wash and rinse before drying off a fluffy white towel.


	7. Sleep like the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about Hannibal brings a dark side out Will out, something his subconscious plays out in sleep...

Will had looked magnificent in his plain boxers and wet hair, nervously glancing in his direction as he climbed into bed. Hannibal's own pyjamas were silky dark crimson, matching the bedding quite well. He hadn't planned to sleep with Will, to feel connected with this injured lost soul but after so many weeks of internal debate, he knew one thing for sure; one couldn't help with whom they fell in love with.  
The only question left was... did Will feel the same way?

Hannibal _hated_ depending on anyone other than himself, hated feeling this vulnerable. For a while he had wondered to himself whether or not to kill Will Graham in order to free himself of these _emotions._ But he couldn't make himself do it, the empath's mere existence in Hannibal's life had him more content than ever. All that was left to do, was to seduce Will into loving him back, manipulate empathy to understand Hannibal's twisted desires, to make him appreciate his _work_. If Graham's moral standards were set too high, then he would have to expose him to a controlled amount of violence in order to provoke the same instinctual reaction Hannibal had. Only then could William truly accept his ways: By becoming a part of his design. 

It was surprising that Will had asked Hannibal to spend the night in the same bed, and adorable that Will was anxious about it, nervously avoiding all eye contact as they lay side by side. Hannibal was sitting up, reading a book on poetry and respectfully keeping his distance. If Will wanted to be intimate, that was his choice to make, and judging by the softening breathing, the empath seemed to be becoming more comfortable with just lying by Hannibal's side. He felt Will shuffle closer, pressing his forehead slightly into Hannibal's side, warm, gentle.

 

> "Could you read one of your poems out loud?" Hannibal turned a page to a poem to suite the occasion, a poem called 'The Sleeper'.   
>  " _At_ _midnight, in the month of June,_  
>  _I stand beneath the mystic moon._  
>  _An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,_  
>  _Exhales from her golden rim,_  
>  _And softly dripping, drop by drop,_  
>  _Upon the quite mountain top,_  
>  _Steals drowsily and musically_  
>  _Into the universal valley._  
>  _The rosemary nods upon the grave;_  
>  _The lily lolls upon the wave:_  
>  _Wrapping the fog about it's breast,_  
>  _The moulders into rest."_  
>  He knew his choice in poetry was wise when Will responded with a drowsy,  
>  "It's beautiful. Edgar Allen Poe? I used to love his poetry... I couldn't always appreciate the written arts as a kid, but something about his work, spoke to me." Hannibal wasn't surprised.
> 
> "He used to suffer from depression, took it out on poetry, literature. Would you like me to read out another?" A glance down showed Will with his eyes half open, curls drying and in all directions.   
>  "Yes..." Will mumbled under his breath, moving closer onto Hannibal. So that's what he did, reading passages from Poe's poems until William had long fell into a deep sleep, Hannibal sinking into the covers to join. With Will's head lying on his chest, he filled with contempt, a warm sensation of joy before drifting off himself.

    *       *       *

Staring. He could feel staring at him.   
It took less than a second for Hannibal to sit right up, a hand under his pillow clutching a hidden knife, looking wildly at the doorway. In the early light of dawn, he could make out a pale figure covered in red, wavering. It was Will, eyes glassy and zoned out, sweat gleaming off his fine body with droplets of blood running down his face. Hannibal blinked. _Sleepwalking. William must be sleepwalking._  
He knew that Will's mental condition was bad but didn't anticipate sleepwalking. Who's blood was that covering his floor? Gliding towards Will, he looked closer at the wound his hospital had been carefully monitoring the nights before; no tears in the stitching. Good, so William wasn't injured. Careful not to awake the sleepwalker, Hannibal avoided touching Will, only moving passed the stupified man to follow a trail of bloody footprints down the stairs. Dread isn't exactly an emotion he could feel; anticipation was the right word to describe it. As he walked on down the trail, he realized that his secret basement door was wide open. Now, he was feeling dread. How was this door discovered?

Walking stealthily down each step, a scene was illuminated by a white flickering light. The scene of a girl in a snow white dress, stained red with flowing blood from a neatly cut throat, her clear blue eyes stared into nothingness, her mouth gaping with terror; a beautiful sight to wake up to. Hannibal's dread quickly lifted when he recognized the dead girl. He had been worried she'd escaped, although in her drugged state that would have been nearly impossible... How had Will found her? What was that provoked the man to slash the girl? Turning round he found the man standing beside him, ghost like. In Hannibal's fabulous mind, it all clicked:  
Will was highly intelligent, conscious or not he was able to find the secret room because that's what he does. He puts himself in the position of a killer and asks "what would a killer like me do..."  This was a good sign, that Will was understanding him subconsciously. As a consequence though, he was left to explain away the questions "Why did Will kill the girl" and "What was she doing in Hannibal's basement". Quick thinking was in order, coming up with a plan inside to explain away the guilt and put it all on Graham. Fornicating evidence around the hallway and doorway was simple enough, making sure the victim looked snatched from the outside, and not dragged from the belly of his home.

 

> Ushering Will awake, careful not to startle, the man came to his senses, falling to his knees in shudders. Fear and confusion clearly over took Will, staring at the lifeless body he had put there, a creation of his subconsciously twisted mind. Hannibal's pride had to be concealed with a mask of grim horror, holding Will and asking him to look into his eyes, softly asking him to calm down.  
>  "Wha-what happened? Who is she? What _did I do to her_?" gasps of pitiful questions pleaded for an explanation that wasn't so obviously guiltful.  
>  "You sleepwalked, Will. I'm not sure how, or why but it looks like you've killed the girl. But listen it's not your fault, you weren't conscious when you hurt her, you were asleep," but it was pointless, tears began to form on Will's face.  
>  "I hurt her, oh _God_ I'm a monster, I'm a monster _I'm_... _how could this happen, where did she come from_." Will's voice rose.  
>  "The front door was open. I think you... found her. You _couldn't_ be responsible though, you were not conscious at the time, please don't blame yourself." It was hard to fake the panic, which was an emotion that never seemed to come naturally to Hannibal.  
>  "You think being asleep justifies murder Dr. Lecter? Conscious or not I am a killer now, my subconscious has clearly proven that I am nothing but a monster who can catch worse monsters because _I can think like them._ No amount of reasoning against that will be useful against the court of law. " The silence that followed was defining. Will was already giving into the idea of being caught. An idea long thought out came to mind, although the circumstance was not exactly planned.  
>  "What if there is no body to find? You wouldn't have to suffer the conscience that your ill mind has conjured up. Let me help you get better, let me help your mind that you speak so ill of. " That caused Will to stop his tears, and mutter something under his breath.  
>  "No body-no crime. Are you suggesting we... get ride of the body? You agree to assist me in this activity?" It was hard not to praise Will for bringing about this wonderful opportunity. How _easy_ it will be to persuade William to trust him, a secret this big could only bring them closer, bond them with morbid unspeakable events.   
>  "I couldn't bare to see you in chains for something your broken mind caused. If you need me to help you, just say the word. If you want to make the call to the police, that is your choice to make. What will it be?" A choice like that should have been obvious, but for an empath it was understandable to hesitate.
> 
> " _Please... Help me_ ," Will softly whimpered, collapsing into Hannibal's arms with slight sobs. Seeing Will so sad was uncomfortable, his mask of empathy felt oddly accurate to his real feelings.   
>  "Of course, I will help you." Hannibal knew exactly what Will needed to hear.   
>  "Now, go on upstairs to my shower and clean yourself off. By the time you've changed your clothing I promise to have the mess cleaned," but he was interrupted by a reasonable question,  
>  "What will we do with the body?" The idea of eating the girl sadly seemed out of question, perhaps disposing of her by burial, sink her in a river, or maybe just leave her to be eaten? Before Hannibal could voice his ideas, Will spoke up.  
>  "Let me clean her off prints, potential DNA you or I left on her. I've learned forensics, I'll be able to do it efficiently." Will's voice was a constricted tone of forced calm, his panic converted into numbness.  
>  "Very well. But first, you must clean yourself up. You need to take your time to clear your mind a little. Come downstairs when you're done." With a nod, the men parted their ways, Will climbing the stairs to his inevitable shower and Hannibal walking into his cabinet for cleaning supplies. The amount of crime scenes he had cleared up to perfection made this one easy enough to be cleaned in a matter of minutes, dragging the limp body onto a plastic stretcher, careful to only touch her with latex gloves. 

The girl's name was Mellissa Shore, a college student that had a uncanny resemblance to Abigail Hobbs; which was why Hannibal kidnapped her. He had meant to keep her captive for Will, planning to stage a murder to make Will think he had done it. Somehow things worked out far better than expected, and made it far more interesting. William always seemed to amaze the cunning Doctor Lecter, which brought a slight hope:   
Was Will worthy of his companionship? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, bookmark to keep up with my updates x


	8. Will's Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will turns to his darker side to cope with what he'd done, finally embracing the killer in him; which leads to his revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is gonna end after a few more chapters :( xx hope you guys like the ending <3

Not even warm droplets of clear water could stop Will from shivering in fear. Fear of the future, fear of the violence, and the fear of his own mind. What twisted, contorted mind could do such a thing during the peaceful hour of sleep? What sort of man does it make him? Could it be blamed on to the psychological damage, after years of abusing is empathy to use it against killers? A talent for saving lives only lead to more death. Repressing all the murders he viewed, all the blood that was spilt, all those victims abused... repressing hadn't  _worked_ .  _Jesus fucking Christ what's going to work?!_   
_Why is this happening to me?!_

It took a while for Will to calm down uncurl from his ball of sadness, and finish off showering. The blood of his victim rolled off his skin, mixing with the water and into the drain pipe, impure. When he left the warm steam of the water he also felt like he left a part of himself behind, a shell of his previously weaker self. Now he felt cold and numbed, but not in a repressive emotionally painful way... in a way that made him feel impenetrable against violence or hurt. Like a new born, he was confused at life and himself, needing guidance; Hannibal... he seemed like the only trust-worthy person in Will's life. He needed to trust him in that moment, and every moment after that. 

Dressing into a maroon collar shirt, dark trousers and shoes, accompanied by a black blazer and decoratively silky tie; dressed to fit his mood, the colours standing out from his fair complexion. Drying and fixing his hair into a perfect curl, he was steadily opening the bedroom door to confront the mess he'd made. The body in the dining room was gone, miraculously spotless floors gleamed in front of him instead, which troubled Will for one reason or another. It didn't sit right with him. Where there was murder, there was blood, lovely crimson blood that describes violence most gently. It was hard not to fight the disturbing thoughts he had fought for so long, but now he has changed: if he could no longer fight the darker parts of himself, why bother restraining them? At least this way he would be performing acts of cruelty consciously, and not have his mind work against him.  Although there was a part of him, reasoning for the good part in him...  
Hearing noises in the kitchen, Will strode into the room to find Hannibal fully dressed and preparing what looked like coffee and desserts. The aroma of freshly ground coffee rose into the air, black and sweet just like he liked it. Delicately put décor of chocolate and sugar surrounded a simple small cake, all laid out for him. Hannibal motioned Will to join him at the breakfast bar, picking up his own cup of what looked like tea, sipping it knowingly. Will was amazed at how fast Hannibal was able to clean, dress and prepare such a delightful snack in the little time he had. The suite Lecter was wearing was a three piece. White collar shirt, maroon waist coat and tie, the trousers and shoes being black. All that red highlighted the man's eyes, making him look stunning in the way forest fires were.

> "Impressive work back there with the clean up. Where's the body?" Spoke up a colder version of Will.   
> "Thank you, the body is in my office prepared for you. But first, I can't have you working on an empty stomach. Please, sit." So that's what he did, the persuading smells leading him on to eat.  
> "Medic's often give people who had experienced immediate trauma chocolate to help with the dopamine levels, and reduce shock. Is this why you're feeding me this dessert?" He took it nearly as an insult. Was he really that noticeably sensitive? Hannibal smiled.  
> "You're very observant. Yes, I thought you could do with something sweet to help your mind and calm you down." William smirked in return.  
> "Oh, I'm calm. That's very thoughtful of you Doctor, but I won't be needing comfort food. My fragile state has already been shattered. Now I am nothing but sharp shards covered in blood, carelessly scattered upon your floor, so do be careful where you step Hannibal." This analogy was appreciated by Hannibal, who raised his tea cup to Will's mug.   
> "Then a toast, dedicated to change; may your past only make your shards sharper, and your design ever more elegant. " At that, they ate together, contempt of Hannibal's acceptance of Will hanging in the air.  
> "How's your wound doing? Have you bruised it any further during your sleepwalking?" Hannibal casually asked in between sips. Will had noticed the dull throbbing pain form his incision, but was able to put up with the pain without showing it anymore.   
> "It's healing quite well, thanks to you. Shall we move into your office now?" And so they did, all dread or guilt missing from either men, Will followed Hannibal to the door.

His victim was lying on plastic sheets, on a foldable table, a set of tools for Will to use laid out beside her. She was beautiful and cold, white skin tinted red. The marks Will had left on her would usually cause guilt to rip through him, but this time he felt nothing but pride.

This was his _becoming._

This was his _design._

Looking up at Hannibal, somehow he knew; knew that he accepted him without question. Both the empath in him, and the killer. Putting on his latex gloves, Will proceeded to use the tools at hand to examine and get rid of prints on the body. It took a while, Hannibal being a good assistant whilst he worked. Will knew that Hannibal would have been able to do the same thing, but preferred to watch him do it instead, perhaps it was morbid curiosity.

> "Have you any ideas on how we are going to get rid of the body? I would suggest making her a floater. " The term 'floater' was what the police used to call bodies found in water, an annoying case due to the fact most physical prints and evidence of violence is often impossible to identify on a bloated body. But that didn't feel right, she shouldn't just be thrown away like that. She should be... honoured.  
> "Well, she's already dead isn't she? The fear in life isn't death; it's to be wasted. Perhaps we can come up with something a little more creative to honour her memory. Show her the side of love you keep locked away. Like Garret Jacob Hobbs loved." He was right, every syllable resided in his head, leading him to greatness and inspiration.   
> "How long is the drive to Stageriff?" Hannibal's head turned in surprise.   
> "About an hours drive from here. Why do you ask?" Mild amusement played on his tone.  
> "Because I'd like to... show my love for the girl. In the same place I saw Hobbs' love. Appreciate her for changing me, in the way the copycat killer did. Only question is, are you in or out Dr. Lecter?" The question was pointless, the answer too obvious.   
> "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

       *            *            *

Calm. Will felt calm in the presence of Dr. Lecter, classical music playing at forte, early morning dew flushed his cheeks in moisture, birds began to sing their morning songs. He sat there in the seat of the car, trying to think back and remember his sleep-dazed murder. But all his mind would let him see was the dream that had accompanied him during sleep, a dream he must have acted out in reality;  
He dreamt of waking, back in his old house in the woods, paralyzed and spilling, spilling like water. Shudders of unstoppable current coursing through him, sanity morphing into madness.Scenes changed, and was back at the abandoned house of 17th Stageriff avenue facing Hobbs and Abigail. This time, he was the one with the knife. This time, he was powerful with pride, thirsty for the tainted blood of the killer Garret Jacob Hobbs. No empathy could stop him, not now that he could fully understand the true natural construct of a killer, the beauty in pain. As he lifted a hunting knife, the one he saw his father use on fish, he thrust the blade into Hobbs. Gutting the man then and there, butchering flesh until it was barely recognisable. Next, he turned to Abigail... he felt connected to her in a unexplainable way, like a sunrise and the sunset; never meeting but always connected. Will picked up a different knife, one with a curvy smaller blade; A Linoleum knife; and stuck it into her neck. Blood gushed in fountains as he hit the jugular, staring into Abigail's large blue eyes. Under his breath, Will started muttering whilst he worked on the incision.  

" _The moon is my sun_  
 _The night is my day._  
 _I kill for blood,_  
 _And you are my prey."_  
It was an old rhyme he had heard school kids use whilst playing tag. Quite menacing, come to think of it.  
He had awoke soon after that, disoriented in front of a corpse. How did he find that girl? Who was she? Why was she only dressed in a white gown? Hannibal's home was the only one in miles...

Suspicion grew inside Graham, as he turned to watch Hannibal calmly get out of the vehicle. Had he... found the girl in the house? Had Hannibal... been keeping her? The body didn't have any signs of sexual abuse, but even _if_ Hannibal was keeping her hostage, Will doubted that he would disrespect anyone like that. The girl had looked eerily familiar, like- like Abigail Hobbs. She looked like Abigail Hobbs.

> Realization hit William and he tensed. Lecter noticed his sudden lack of movement, and commented,  
> "Is everything alright Will?" No. No everything was not alright. Suddenly pieces of the puzzle came together, the criminal profile of the copycat killer finally linked to Lecter: all the boxes checked out. Medical knowledge, intelligence, inside knowledge of the case. Only what was the motive? Ah, of course. Curiosity. The motive of any intelligent sociopath.   
> "You- you're the copy cat killer. You're the one who stole Abigail's body and hung it on the cabin wall. Why?" Surprise was not the reaction Lecter gave him. It was relief, his features softened.    
> "I thought you'd figure it out sooner or later. I did not mean to disrespect her, I promise you that. I was just experimenting." No, that wasn't the right answer.   
> "You're lying. You did it to send a message, to provoke someone... Me. You did it to see how I would react." Will didn't know what to feel. Betrayed? Disgusted? Violated? Or relieved?  
> "I did it to see what you were capable of. I was intrigued by you, and I was curious to see if you could..." Lecter trailed off.   
> "If I could understand you. " Of course. Doesn't everyone want to be understood? To be accepted for whom they truly are? It was true, he couldn't help but accept Hannibal. Even now that he knew the man's true identity Will still felt connected. How typical of him to fall in love with a serial killer.
> 
> "Would you reject my friendship, now that you know my true identity? Will you betray my best interests for you and deny me my freedom?" Hannibal's questions were reasonable, but they _hurt_. Logic couldn't reason with what Will felt for Hannibal, the connection between them felt like they were blurring together. Like conjoined twins, they may not survive separation.   
>  "Lets do this together." He accepted Hannibal's killer, the way he was accepted only hours prior.

Because no one would want to love him, no one but Hannibal.


	9. Love Crime (smutty at the end)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal head to Will's house in the woods, after being mentally exhausted they share a bed... ;)

Impressive, how quickly William had turned from empath to killer whilst simultaneously deducing Hannibal's true nature; and accepting it. Alienating Will was the right move, now the man's trust was solely left with Lecter, and he would not disappoint. What a strange feeling it was to finally find an equal, a person to claim, to share with, open up to... inconvenient as it were for a dangerous serial killer to entrust an officer of the law with such dark secrets, Will was corrupt now in the best way possible- in his own personal way. This was visible just by reading the body language of the empath, his facial expressions so sweetly easy to read along with the confident movements of his body, it was clear that Will had found his true self in violence. This wasn't madness. Madness would require delusion, rage and loss of control. William had found his control with his calm. Hannibal and Will were perfectly aware of their actions and the consequences they may bring. It made it all the more exiting.

Dressed in clear plastic suites/latex gloves both men began to set the crime scene, carrying stag horns and heads into the abandoned house, placing them with care onto surrounding walls. One particularly large stag head was freshly cut, placed at the centre of the very same room that Will was slashed by Garret Jacob Hobbs. The very same room Will watched Abigail die from the love her father gave to her, respectfully and deadly. Now it was William's turn to love, to become better and worse than the man who hurt him. To honour and mock. To create his own design of violent love.   
Flowers of white were placed around the stag head, a sea of purity stained in tragedy and at the centre of it all lies Melissa Shore; pale skin already turning blue, her neck was still stained crimson. Hannibal didn't plan on telling Will her name or origin since he didn't see the point, the newly born malic in William was fragile and could be swayed by his old habit of empathy. He didn't need to risk undoing so much work just from just a few simple words. So much progress in such little time was astounding, thrilling. Hannibal helped Will mount the body onto the stag horns in one swift movement, watching dead blood slither down onto snow petals. For the first time Will's expressive face deceived no emotions. There were emotions in him of course, those don't just go away, but they were not the average response to violence and that made Hannibal happy. He wasn't sure if he loved the man, or obsessed over him. What was the difference? 

> "Tell me, how do you feel now that you've displayed the body of your very first victim? Who are you displaying it for?" he asked in his therapist tone as Will was putting their equipment back into the trunk of the car, taking the time to turn around slowly and take off his gloves. The coat Graham was wearing was a black trench coat, collar turned up in a fashion that highlighted his cheekbones, made him look much less innocent than he originally seemed.   
>  "You call her my first victim like you expect there to be more. Victim is the wrong term... I don't think that's what I see her as." Hannibal cocked his head at the answer  
>  "What do you consider her then?" The response he got was a shrug.
> 
> "Dead? Just dead I suppose. And as to answer your previous questions, I feel like all of the floating pieces of my once disorganized mind have finally come together in peace. A sense of peace I'd like to show to the police force I was working with." Beautifully put answer.   
>  "Mock the men who broke you with your sharps shatters of shards." The morning was approaching fast and the two of them had to move fast. There would be no doubt about William getting eventually linked to the crime scene and caught, it was only a matter of time. Both of them knew this but there was no sense of rush; they knew that without Will, homicide department would take much longer to catch potential criminals. Which left the inevitability of running off. But where to?  
>  "Do you need to pick up anything from your house?" Hannibal kept his eyes on the road, his  slivery hair a little messy. It annoyed him.  
>  "I was just thinking that, yes I'll need to pack a few vitals and say goodbye to the dogs..." Will trailed off in memory of his family of strays. The pets were important in Will's life once, substituting acceptance, undeniable loyalty and appreciative love. Now Will had him to cater to all those needs.   
>  "Of course. I'll make sure your dogs are left in good hands, don't worry." It was a promise to keep his significant other happy, which was all that's important.   
>  "Thank you, Hannibal. Where would we be fleeing to anyway. Asia? Europe?" Ah yes, their escape plan.   
>  "Italy, I think, don't you? I'd like to show you Florence and all it's bountiful culture, show you my memory of it." Hannibal's fondness leaked into his words softly, noticeably grasping Will's notice.   
>  "Sounds like a stunning suggestion. I'd appreciate to see what young Dr. Lecter viewed in his fine years." The tone was gently humorous in formality, almost seductive to Lecter. Arousal jumped in him when he felt Will's hand rest on his knee and heard a deep voice speak closely into his ear,   
>  "I want to know every inch of you, inside and out." A suggestion like that made it very hard for Hannibal to hide his want, picking up speed slightly in order to reach their destination faster. 

  *             *             *

Piercing blue eyes stared into the fire place, flickers of the flames reflected off the glassy gaze as Will stared. Hannibal had noticed that it was hard on Will to say goodbye, hard for him to let go of the safe place called home. Standing side by side, he handed William a cup of warm tea when he noticed a light splatter of blood that had went unnoticed till now, lovely against the pale cheekbones on a dark new man. After so much work since early dawn, Hannibal was left with the urge to simply relax and enjoy spending time with Will without any urgency to rush or evade capture. Those were problems for the later day, right now all he could think about was how William looked in his maroon shirt and how terribly he wanted to rip it off. Why did he have to look so _good_ in suite pants, in his shirt and tie... it made it hard to look anywhere else other than Will's body, face or just- _everything_. Every inch of him was perfection.  
Hannibal's thoughts were interrupted by Graham's movements turning to face him, a tired look displayed when suddenly his knees buckled, dropping the cup onto the floor as he swooned.

> Hannibal jumped in time to support Will's weight on him, moving the limp man to the bedroom for rest. So much change was overwhelming William, especially with so much sleep deprivation.  
>  "How about some rest before we head out? You must be overwhelmed. " But William was shaking his head,  
>  "No, no just a little tired but I'm not sleepy. Please keep me company" Will signalled at the chair beside his bed, grabbing at his tie and top buttons feverishly.   
>  "Here, let me-" Hannibal offered, bending over to release the buttons from their grip, smelling the sweet aroma coming from Will. One button, then the second, a third... oh no he'd undone too many. Why didn't he stop at two? Will's breathing increased, feeling his heart beat faster the closer Hannibal leaned in. Suddenly it was hard to concentrate on anything but how good Will's lips would taste...  
>   "Perhaps you'd care to join me in my bed? It is awfully spacious here...." But Will didn't have time to finish his flirtation when Hannibal leaned in to share a sensual kiss.

Their eyes closed and their lips met, moving, breathing together, pulling each other closer. With a swift motion Hannibal was on top of Will who was frantically kissing back, hands found themselves sliding up his shirt caressing his modestly toned body, feeling their way around the killer's hip bones. An animalistic feeling of lust had started to build up as he felt Will's own hips instinctually begin to grind up against him, so he returned the rhythmic movements, relishing at the hot friction it began to build between them. Even his cold killer instincts and years of self control couldn't resist the very first sounds of Will's soft moans; it made him want nothing but to consume and be consumed by this man, to never stop the passion and to love until they become one whole. 

For the first time Hannibal didn't just want to fuck; he wanted to make love, even if it would destroy them both. 

                      _*   (Will's perspective)   *_  
Will wondered how he had kept his hands off of Hannibal for so long before this moment. A simple touch was enough to make him shivver, that finely toned body grinding on top of him made it near impossible to stop the moans escaping from his mouth. Those strong tanned hands were all over him, undoing the last buttons on his shirt, running through his hair, undoing his belt buckle... so Will reciprocated.

If undressing each other wasn't exiting enough, feeling Hannibal in tight boxers was more than exhilarating - especially when he felt how hard Hannibal was against him, how _big_ he felt. Will's own boxers were looser but he was just as hard, grinding up against his man, moaning when Hannibal began to kiss at his neck in love bites. Beautiful marks of blue/ purple will be left to remember the feeling of desire that coursed through his veins, panting growing stronger as Hannibal's hand reached down to feel over Will's boxers to his sensitive cock.   
_"Ooh"_ moaned Will, Hannibal's hand had slipping past the elastic waist band and around his cock, tightly gripped and slowly moving up and down. Will began to squirm under the pressure building up inside him, softly moaning into Hannibal's ear which only seemed to motivate the man more, to nip at Will's lips till they bled, to leave bruises all around his neck, to continuously grind with the rhythm of each and every time he stroked Will's cock. Both of them felt feverishly hot, thoughts centred solely on pleasuring one another. Which is why Will interrupted his own pleasurable moment by rolling Hannibal over onto his back, Hannibal reciprocating and followed his gentle movements, meeting his blue eyes with dark red ones questioningly. Without a word and without breaking eye contact, Will slowly made his way down to Hannibal's boxers, kissing the hard wood underneath the fabric. Once Hannibal realized what Will's intentions were he tensed, letting out his first groan; it was such a hot sound that it instantly made Will want to hear more. Pulling down the shorts, Will's eyes widened at the sight of Hannibal's dick, pausing before teasingly licking the tip. The result was instant, another softer moan was let out. For some strange reason Will felt a rush of pride for being able to make someone as sophisticated as Hannibal loose control like that. It motivated him to continue teasing, sucking, deep throating using his tongue and hands combined to make Hannibal weaker with every motion. Will sucked like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, feeling a hand intertwine in his curls, gripping at his hair in helpless pleasure. Just hearing Hannibal groan mae Will hornier, releasing a deep moan that Hannibal felt through his man-hood, gasping at the sudden pleasurable vibrations.   
"Wi- _Will"_   was enough for Will to look up into those red eyes, mouth dripping, tasting sweet. He knew Hannibal had been dangerously close to finishing right then and there, which Will couldn't allow. Slowly he crawled up to Hannibal lips, kissing the softly panting man as his butt was groped. 

                _*(Hannibal's perspective)*_

It had taken all the self control he had to not cum from Will's surprisingly great blow job, the innocent looking man not so innocent after all.  
Feeling Will's ass rubbing against his throbbing cock, he began to feel a build up, he had to be inside Will, needed to be consumed. So he inched his cock into that smooth ass, watching the reaction of the empath; beautiful expression of helplessness. _God he felt so tight_. It was almost unbearable to feel Will fully sit on his shaft, slowly starting to rock his hips around in a circular motion; it drove Hannibal crazy. How amazing William looked riding him, hips moving in time, soft messy curls, eyes closed and _moaning_. Oh, his moans. They were so arousing Hannibal had to close his eyes to clear his mind in order to control his animalistic urges, growling in pure pleasure. With a sudden jerky motion he rose on top of Will, drawing him closer, still penetrating the gasping man's insides.Frantic kisses and constant grinding built up heat between them, the smell of sex luring them both to near madness with pleasurable sensations.  
In that moment they were nothing but light and sound.   
Amazing how much Hannibal felt for Will, how overwhelmed he felt by Will's touch or sound, something about it felt so unlikely. Like a dear taming a hunter.   
Every thrust became deeper, deeper, Will's gasps started to increase and his own deep groans matched pace, gripping the bed sheets in near pain. The line between pain and pleasure was thin, this was proven by Will's sudden need to bite at Hannibal's flesh, nipping lightly till bloodshed. It was wonderful to see his mate enjoy the blood, tasting it on his own tongue after finding Will's red lips.

They were both so close to coming, so much build up of excitement and lust, the friction, the heat was all too much to keep in anymore. Looking into those large blue eyes, Hannibal suddenly felt Will tighten and shudder; his expression was sexier than ever as he was comming. It was just enough to set Hannibal off, the feeling of Will spasming around his cock drove him crazy, a flash of white light, he came deep and hard, moaning into the neck of his mate. He had lost all control, feeling the slick liquid invade Will's insides with warmth just made it feel even better. Fuck, _he felt good_. The orgasm lasted for what seemed like forever, yet they still continued to fuck at a slower pace till they were surely through. Then they just lay there, side by side, Hannibal admiring Will's glistening body. He could feel both of their breathing starting to level, drowsiness started creeping in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehehehehhee hope you liled the smut scene xx


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